Shadows Over Gielinor
by SketchyTexas
Summary: Dark times have befallen the once-peaceful world of Gielinor. The Empty Lord - Zaros - has been reborn, and seeks to control the world; revenge for his defeat in the God Wars. How will the world survive the onslaught of the most powerful god in existence
1. Prologue: A Bad Situation

I don't own ANY part of the game Runescape or its associated terms, places, etc.

Runescape is the property of Jagex Ltd.

Author's Notes: I wrote this mainly because I was bored while getting my 99 Cooking stat. I hope you all like it, because I definitely enjoyed writing it. Review please!

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"Sir, the Mahjarrat have pushed our forces back to Andelm." Came the report from a breathless courier in Varrockan livery. Grim faced, General Theodrus replied, "Send another battalion of the guards; we must halt their progress as soon as possible. If Yialus falls, it won't be soon before they're at our gates." The courier nodded vigorously, turning around and running back from whence he came. Turning back from his brief conversation, Theodrus consulted his maps. Worn and slightly outdated, the yellowing map of the Kingdom of Varrock was filled with small wooden pieces depicting men with swords, spears, or bows, as well as cavalry and cannons. Dishearteningly, those in the colors of Zaros outnumbered the pieces in the colors of Varrock.

Beckoning to waiting courier without looking up, Theodrus

said, "Tell the King we may need to pull forces from the Canifiscan Outpost to augment those in the field already." The courier, as soon as he was sure Theodrus had no more to add, dashed off wordlessly in the direction of the throne room. The room Theodrus and the handful of senior officers were in was not much different from the throne room, being made of the same brownish-grey stone as the rest of the castle. It had similar tapestries as well, in the colors of Varrock, as well as bearing its shield-and-sword insignia. There were several tables scattered about the room as well, which was not quite ten paces long. The tables, in addition to the small crowd of people, made the War Room feel cramped and hot.

Another courier came running into the room and was intercepted

by a senior officer, who took a paper from the breathless boy and told him to stand against the wall with the others. Looking over the paper, the officer grimaced and brought it to Theodrus. Taking the wrinkled paper into his hand, Theodrus had much the same reaction as the officer. Muttering to himself, the general said quietly, "The Faladians have been overrun at Saronis and Otrech. That means that the Zarosians will be closing in at Draynor before long." Glancing up, Theodrus called to a senior officer, "You there, Williams, send word to General Percival that his battalions will be moving in to aid the Faladians. You will be accompanying them." The senior officer, saluting, gathered his decorative hat and set a brisk pace out of the War Room.

In his mind, Theodrus laughed dryly. _At this rate, the war will be_

_over soon, for better or for worse._


	2. Chapter 1: The Thick of It

I don't own ANY part of the game Runescape or its associated terms, places, etc.

Runescape is the property of Jagex Ltd.

Author's Notes: I wrote this mainly because I was bored while getting my 99 Cooking stat. I hope you all like it, because I definitely enjoyed writing it.

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Parrying yet another strike with his shield, First Lieutenant Abrim Kolyat frantically stabbed his attacker, a thin man in the Purple-and-Black of the Zarosians, and watched him fall to the ground, clutching his stomach. But Abrim had no time to think on it, as another purple-clad man ran up to replace the one that had been slain. The fighting had been like this for hours – a man springing up where one had fallen. The battlefield, a field once full of green grass, was now full of armored corpses and drenched with blood. It seemed, dismayingly, as if the hours of fighting had been fruitless; the Varrockan Fourteenth Guard Battalion making very little progress towards the Zarosian lines.

But finally came a cry of success: the Zarosians were falling

back. Letting forth more ragged cries, the Varrockans raised their swords and spears into the air in triumph. Peppering the fleeing Zarosians were arrows fired by the feeble amount of archers still on the field, the rest having fallen back to regroup. An hour later, the dead were being collected, stripped, and either buried or wrapped in linen. The former were mostly Zarosians, not truly buried but rather dumped in shallow graves. It wasn't for respect, instead for practicality: corpses were obstacles in the field. The Varrockan soldiers – in contrast – were wrapped in the aforementioned linens and loaded into broad, long hearse-carts to be taken back to the forward outpost for proper burial and ceremony.

Prodding some of the Zarosian dead with his sword, Abrim

was contemplating the battle. He remembered killing more than one hundred Zarosian soldiers, a heroic feat in and of itself, but it was lessened slightly by the fact that the Fourteenth Guard had fought mainly against fanatical militia. True, the Guard was outnumbered nearly 3 to 1, but the skill they possessed easily leveled the odds. "First Lieutenant Abrim," came a voice from behind him, shaking Abrim out of his reverie. Turning, Abrim saluted, seeing it was a Field Officer, though the name escaped him. "Sir, what do you need?" He asked. The Field Officer waved a hand, freeing Abrim from attention, and replied, "I don't need anything, but Major Rayl wants a report. You are to report to his tent and receive further instruction there." After receiving a final salute from Abrim, the First Officer walked off in the direction of the Command Camp, a large ring of equally large tents.

Sheathing his sword and slinging his shield on his back, Abrim

walked quickly in the direction of the largest tent in view – a sprawling thing in the colors of Varrock, surrounded by heavily armored guards with two-handed broadswords, always on the alert. Walking past them with a show of his Officer's badge, Abrim paused by the entrance to the tent, gathered himself, and went through. At his entry Major Rayl looked up. It was widely believed that had Rayl not entered into service, he could have been a speaker. With his appearance, it certainly would not have been out of his reach. Short cropped silver hair framed a light skinned, blue eyed face with surprisingly few wrinkles for a man of forty-five. The only thing that detracted from his face was a long, puckered scar running from his right temple to the bridge of his nose. It wasn't broad, but it was noticeable. The scar had been acquired in one of the early Kharidian campaigns, a trophy from a Pollnivnichan scimitar.

Speaking in a deep, bass voice, Rayl addressed Abrim, "First

Lieutenant, I'm pleased to see to made it out of the skirmish relatively unscathed." Abrim thought that the "skirmish" was actually quite a large battle; but then, Rayl had seen – and even been part of – battles that were surely much larger both in sheer scale as well as in long-term outcome. Continuing, Rayl said, "But back to business: As you know, we have orders to secure the town of Branlin to help release pressure on our right flank. This force of Zarosians was the advance guard, simply thousands of lightly armed men. Inside the town will be strong, disciplines soldiers – this I am sure you know. But they will be armed with not only swords and axes, but their gods-cursed magic as well. We are, as we speak, being sent a battalion of Defensive Mages: the Seventh Arcanist Division. These mages in particular have been trained in fighting the Zarosians, and we are ensured that they will help us greatly in our acquisition of Branlin.

"But of this, we cannot be completely sure. I for one have

never trusted mages very far, not since the Tower Rebellion, but we must rely on them. The Zarosian magic will tear us to pieces without any aid. My request is that you, First Lieutenant, lead the forces that will guard the mages from an inevitable attack." Seeing the involuntarily shocked expression on Abrim's face, Rayl explained, "I would choose a Senior Officer regularly, but those under my command have very little field experience. Straight from the Academies, you see. Now you, on the other hand, have three years of field experience as well as an excellent record. With these considerations, I believe that you are the ideal choice for the task. Do you agree?" Nodding vigorously, Abrim replied, "I agree wholeheartedly sir, and I hope that I may prove to be worthy of your consideration." Abrim finished with a salute. "At ease, First Lieutenant," Laughed Rayl, "and I'm sure you will. For now, see that all matters concerning your soldiers are in order. Report back to me tomorrow at dawn, and I'll send you to your new unit. Dismissed." Rayl said the last word with a smile and a wave of his hand towards the tent flap.

Before Abrim was even out of the tent, the Major was bent over

his papers once again. Filled with anticipation, Abrim went to the Dispatcher's tent and started on the papers he would have to sign to start his transfer.


End file.
